Blow her alive

15 Friday May 2015

Posted by in abundance, devotion, learning, listen, movement, nature, poems, poetry, presence, release

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Wind scours Skyros,

casting off whatever doesn’t blow her alive.

Roosters call into her,

releasing ritual morning battle cries-

two voices, 

one earthless,

one earthbound,

twist together in a marriage of grand and minute.

Cats own the streets below her gaping arms,

molding themselves into stone hollows,

low and restful,

knowing that to cling is to miss the beckoning..

Open opposite windows

and your room will fill with dervishes.

Drop it all,

unclasp fingers and release hold-

Spirit sings into nothing less.

Worn boots

01 Friday May 2015

Posted by in courage, devotion, peace, poems, poetry, work

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Ground zero,

the epicenter,

the war zone-

violence, hatred and calamity

grow equally outward as inward.

Peace workers lace up worn boots

to enter the dust and rubble

and walk inner landscapes to aid survivors.

Skilled visitors to the battleground

staunch blood of the willing

and keep it from spilling on real soil.

Visitor

12 Sunday Apr 2015

Posted by in becoming, courage, dread, freedom, learning, listen, poems, poetry, presence, transition

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He always shows up uninvited.
And closed doors don’t slow him in the least.
(It’s like that when you haven’t a face,
a body
or a name.)
His approach sinks your belly like a battleship,
and ushers in a near silent gasp-
“Oh no.”
To which,
were anyone else to hear and wonder,
you’d deny ever uttering.
So you reach for a bottle,
and the volume button,
also the telephone, the tv and a book-
none of which can you pay any attention to,
breath having suspended upon his arrival
in singular focus:
that of prey.
And how, possibly, to get away…

Consider the difference
were you to put down the glass,
smile at the kids still out playing frisbee in the yard,
take a seat, look at him
and say,
“Hello, old friend. What have you come to tell me?”

Fall into

12 Sunday Apr 2015

Posted by in becoming, death, learning, movement, poems, poetry, Sight

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Out into space

a finger,

wrist, forearm, shoulder, neck stretches..

nose leads forward, head tilts

into the roll taking a body

down

away from what sustains into

the craving and desire to possess that thing

that woman that car that status that

tasty morsel that cons you-

that you con yourself-

into believing

will scratch the itch, quell the hunger,

satisfy that blasted longing leaving a belly growling

every morning 

a body doesn’t fall into

itSelf.

He drives through night

11 Saturday Apr 2015

Posted by in aging, beauty, courage, death, movement, nature, poems, poetry, the road, transition

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He drives through night,

his fear,

navigating roads with poor eyesight 

and the anxiety of loss.

She waits, after 30 years, to release her last breath

upon his arrival.

His mind, his hand, reach for her

through lessening miles.

Following a companionship of sorrow-

reunion comes

in rainbows of falling tears.

Movements,

these delicate movements,

carve the limitlessness of human hearts-

darkness can’t even stop that.